CHARLOTTE'S POV
ONE WEEK LATER...

Drips of liquid traveled from a bag, through a tube, and to his vein. His blood was heated and his heart beat slowed. That same heartbeat that soothed me to sleep after crying so many nights of hating myself. Hating myself because I let myself believe it was my fault that my parents left me alone in the cruel and hateful world.

That same heartbeat was fast when I needed it to be, taking me places I'd never been. That heartbeat was slowing to a stop and we all knew it. I'd realized that's what Frankie meant that one day when he said Nonna needed me. She did need me. I needed me in the sense that without closure of seeing my Grandfather breathe his last breath, I'd never know what it would be like to say goodbye.

His eyes were shut but not tight, like a child pretending to sleep when they were nearly caught in the dead of night. I wish he was pretending. I wish those eyes would blink back at me and his flat, blue lips would turn pink again and smile. But, it wasn't happening. And it hurt worse than it did that day I lost my parents. After this, I wouldn't have another chunk of heart left. None to love or nourish. The last of my heart would be buried with the remains of the man I loved the most.
I closed my eyes and started my goodbye:

I've always been shit at thinking and making decisions, you've always known that. That's probably why I'm in the mess that I'm in. Made a bad move and a bad friend. You knew this, I probably knew this but you said nothing. You supported my every decision and never said, "I told you so," when I was proven wrong. I still have yet to be proven right and I will miss your nonverbal taunts while you would tell me over the phone that it's okay, I'm okay, everything is going to be okay. Nothing is okay. I'm losing you and you're losing me. I should have come when Frankie asked me to, maybe you would be able to respon-.

A hand rested on my shoulder, it was time.

Frankie, Nonna, Celia, and I all stepped back to the side. I then realized what death was. Death wasn't a choice. Not even in the terms of suicide. No, death is a stage. A permanent stage that is impossible to get out of. On the heart beat monitor, it looked slow. The lines went from short spiked ones to completely flat.

It was gone. The chunk of heart, that is. I thought maybe the last of all I had would save him of the hell he was enduring but it didn't. Obviously. No one cried. No one shed a single tear due to the fact we were all still taking it in. I knew for a fact Frankie, Celia, and I were going through our memories and looking for all the good and bad. Mentally adding a picture of this to the last page and closing the imaginary scrapbook to never be opened again.

Nonna spoke quietly, "Well," she sniffed and dabbed her eyes with a tissue, "no use in just standing here. Let's get going. You girls have packing to do and F-Frankie," she stuttered while pushing us out of the room, "you help them." It pained her to say Frankie's name since he was, in fact, named after our Grandfather. She pushed us out and closed the door in our faces. We all understood it was a lot harder for her than it was for us.

Celia's jaw moved a few times since biting back the tears seemed to only make her mouth bleed, "Guys," she began but never finished. They both looked at me since I remained motionless and speechless. The breath I was holding released and I let the tears drop.
I didn't want Nonna to see me cry.

My arms spread wide and they welcomed themselves into them. I allowed their tears to fall on my shirt and my tears fell on theirs. When the door handle started to jiggle, we wiped our tears and looked at her. Her tears were swiped away and her eyes were bloodshot read. I'm sure all of ours were, we'd spent the last two days sitting here.

At least Celia and I had. Frankie couldn't handle it and Nonna refused to see the man she loved to slowly die. She'd rather just watch him leave and get it over with. We all went our separate ways. Celia and I went to her car so we could get to the airport in time, Nonna went to her car to get home, and Frankie went to his car to get home.

When we got onto the freeway, Celia had to pull over. Her vision was foggy due to crying and I agreed to take over the wheel. All our bags had been shipped and Celia had bought a car for the both of us, having her car sent to meet us at home a few days afterwards.

---

Flying scared me again but I got over it when we landed. I missed the warmth of being home. I'm just glad the old place I called home is Liz's own business. I'd left my keys with a good friend and asked him to move my things for me. He did. And my many boxes appeared in our large flat. At least three times larger than the one Liz and I shared, "Make yourself at home. It is your home, I mean." I nodded and she continued, "Beds and things were delivered. Even the Christmas presents. Sorry you couldn't spend it with Frankie and Nonna," she sympathized and headed to what I'm guessing will be her bedroom, "I just need a minute." And she disappeared int the room.

Boxes scattered the floors and left tiny pieces of cardboard on the carpet. Before we came here, we made a few stops. That included taking my name from the lease which was surprisingly easy to do and leaving the apartment all to Liz. Also, buying a new phone that was better than my first. And of course, to the hospital--which didn't please Ms. Hannigan--to change my address. I sat on the couch still wrapped in plastic and stared at my phone, waiting for the call that would never come.

Well, a call did come but not from the person I wanted. It was Frankie. "Hello?" I answered.

"How's it going, Squirm?" His voice was sad and lifeless.

"Not any better than you... how's Nonna?" My feet landed on the other end of the couch and I laid back.

He paused for a minute, it seemed like he'd looked over at something or someone, "Worse than before. She's zoned out, basically. She won't talk or eat right now. Might have to take her to a doctor tomorrow, I'm worried about her." There was a crash in Celia's room and I got up to check on her.

"Yeah, give me the details." He agreed and hung up, "You okay?"

Broken glass scattered on the floor. Glitter and liquid stained the carpet and she fell to her knees, a few feet away from the shard. I knew exactly what she'd broken. The first snow globe Grandpa gave to her was for her eighth birthday. She'd had a weird obsession with them. He'd spent months trying to find the perfect one so he and I could give Celia the only thing she asked for. And she'd broken it. "I-" she tried to speak but tears interrupted her beginning.

"Come here," I engulfed her in a side hug. And we stayed there for at least forty minutes or more, hugging and holding and praying that somehow, someday there will be the chance to at least see him smile again. Even though we both hoped that day would be farther away. He'd want us to live our lives the way it was supposed to be lived but-.

I can't even process the thoughts in my head correctly or else they'll get mushed with the other million things pounding in my brain. Like pasta. Speaking of which, what will we have for dinner?
Things like that coat the inside of my head with distractions from the real world. The world of dying. Again, dying is misunderstood.

You hear things on TV about people dying in Africa or being shot or robbed, etc. and you give sympathy. No one wants that shit, honestly. If someone wanted your sympathy, they would ask for it. No one spills their problems for sympathy. That's a major part of dying, people around the dead feel the need to sympathize with the person(s) who witnessed the dead die. When in reality, the people who watched them die didn't even want to.

They wanted to see that person jump up and laugh and cry and say that they fell for their stupid joke. We all knew that wasn't going to happen, but that's what you can hope for, right?
Hoping is not something that comes true. Seeing is not believing. Wishing on a star won't make it come true. And swearing on another's life other than your own brings demise to yourself. Fore you have sworn on another person--dead or alive--that you should not have sworn on.

Death is not something that you can swear on afterwards. "Oh, I swear on my mother's life..." whether your mother is dead or alive, you shouldn't swear on her life especially if you're lying. Death is ironically, deathly misunderstood. And if the world realized that, maybe we wouldn't have so many people dying.

Notes